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There's just something about her that makes people want to give her anything and everything she could ever ask for, but that's the thing with Claire. She doesn't ask for much. She didn't come here for a handout. She wanted a job, and she has earned every dollar since.
I become insanely interested in the organization of the liquor bottles on the wall when she turns in the direction of the bar. I have no doubt the woman knows I spend too much time watching her, but I can only hope she thinks I'm keeping an eye on her in order to critique her work rather than being drawn into her orbit by her personality and beauty.
My phone rings, and I'm grateful for the distraction. Anything other than the subject of Claire Kennedy would be welcomed right now.
"Hello?" I say when the call connects.
I head down the back hallway, having spent enough time tonight watching the woman make people fall in love with her.
"Walker, hey. It's Adalynn."
"Cash isn't here," I say, realizing it's been a while since I saw the woman.
She has spent years waiting at one of the tables in the bar for Police Chief Cash Tucker to arrive for his nightly walkthrough when he's on the evening shift.
"I'm not looking for Cash," she says in a way that tells me the woman is annoyed with just the mention of the man.
Rumor around town is that they've been hooking up in secret. Maybe things didn't work out the way everyone predicted. I would've lost money if there was a bet because I thought those two were destined to spend the rest of their lives together. They're the only ones who couldn't see they were perfect for each other.
"How can I help you, Adalynn?"
"I know that Claire is working for you," she begins, and it's no surprise that she knows that even though she hasn't stepped foot in the bar since Claire forced her way into a job here. "I need you to do me a favor."
"Of course you do," I tell her, pulling in a deep breath.
Her twin brothers, Ronnie and Donnie, spend a lot of time in here too, and, like every other person in town, I consider the men my friends. The men are known for dating the same woman—at the same time. You'd think in a town with such rigid ways about community and outdated practices the folks in town would have a problem with it, but I haven't heard one negative word spoken about the way those men want to spend their romantic lives.
"Larkin has a car that isn't working."
"I don't know a thing about cars. Maybe give Boone a call."
"I'm not calling Boone."
"Was he rude to you?" I ask. "He's a grump, but I know he wouldn't want you to be afraid to take a vehicle to him."
"Larkin is Claire's daughter."
"She's too young to drive."
"Walker Conroy, if you don't shut up and let me speak!"
I clamp my mouth closed. Pissing off a Southern woman isn't on my to-do list today.
"Larkin has one of those ride-on cars, and it needs a new battery. I have one on the way. When it gets here, I need you to go to her house and hook it up."
"It's a rather simple process," I tell her. "Can't you just give it to Claire to plug in? The woman isn't an idiot."
Even with the ruckus and noise coming from the bar, I can still hear her annoyed intake of breath.
"She doesn't know the battery is coming. In fact, she lied and told me she had one on the way."
"Maybe she does," I argue.
"She doesn't. Will you take care of it for me?"
I stare at a nail hole in the wall, not answering.
"Walker?"
